Dear friends, beautiful and happy people,
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
Today, I am hyper happy, because my “fascinating and brilliantly messy” qabalistic explorations (I am to Israel Regardie what Jimmy Page is to Al Di Meola) concerning the number 220 (cf. Diamond Digger), have sparked heated doctrinal disputes within the Community on topics that are objectively as cool as:
“Would the optimal Thelemic couple actually be George Bryan Brummell and Red Sonja?… From a Thelemic point of view, would the ideal romcom really be a love story between Des Esseintes and Wonder Woman?… ”
All of this is very encouraging.
I am French, dear friends, and therefore very sensitive to the things of love.
Love has always been the law in our latitudes, and it is not very surprising that Saint François Rabelais, of blessed memory, located the Abbey of Thélème on the banks of the Loire.
What, a priori, characterizes a French Thelemite is that, being entirely devoid of any Puritan heritage, Thelema has never had, for him — born as he is in the land of Laclos and de Sade — anything truly transgressive about it.
On the contrary, Thelema offers us the opportunity to grasp and apprehend the Transcendence and Depth of our ideal of “Order and Beauty, Luxury, Calm and Voluptuousness” — but I have already recounted all of that at length in relation to my personal journey (cf. Pilgrimage to Cythera: How I Became a Thelemite Without Giving Up a Single Orgasm).
Unfortunately, my tireless old leitmotif (“My only talent is my cock,” cf. Idle Dandy in a Snow Leopard Winter), combined with my considerations on the Gnostic Saints (among whom figure the great Pan, the great Khem [Min], and the great Priapus), allowed, during the Troubles of the Year Vviii, the Inquisition of Old Grey Land to claim the opposite — that for me, Thelema was nothing but a Rasputinian “intellectual pretext” for libertinism.
Nothing could be further from the truth: I am a spiritual person, which is to say, the very opposite of an intellectual.
The man who rationalizes endlessly can neither get hard, nor laugh, nor invoke the gods: deport the intellectuals!
On the theoretical level, the foundation (if I may say so) of all Sex Magick is the following:
Beyond the psycho-affective aspect, the Qabalah attributes the Sphere of Yesod (= the sexual organs of man + his subconscious) to the Moon — that is, to the maddening and ghostly reflection, in the heart of darkness, of the light of the Sun (Sphere of Tiphareth = the heart of man + his consciousness), which itself is the contraction of the infinite Divine Light (Sphere of Kether = the fontanelle of man + his superconsciousness).
In plain terms: a man’s libido reveals his ipseity — and therefore his divinity — under a mask.
Now, it is as in Nō theater: the more powerful the divinity, the more impressive the mask.
Hence the axiom: to exceptional people, exceptional morals.
Meditate upon this, dear friends, and go your gorgeous ways under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, and which we call GOD.
Warm kisses from the Bahamas.
Love is the law, love under will.
— ☉︎ in 10° ♉︎ : ☽︎ in 24° ♎︎ : ♃︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰⅰ.
𓄿𓎛𓂧 𓇋𓈖𓏌
